Frozen
by bbgirl17555
Summary: Post 'Chosen' A now immortal Buffy tries to find her place in the world. (Buffy & Spike) Completed
1. Default Chapter

Title: Frozen   
Author: Becca aka Barbie Girl  
Rating: R  
Character\Pairing: Buffy & Spike  
Spoilers: Chosen   
Timeline: Future Fic (Post Chosen)  
Summary: Buffy tries to find her place where time no longer applies...  
Feedback: My drug of choice! Help out an addict please! So R&R  
Distribution: Sure! Distribute away. I kinda would like to know where but you don't have to. As long as you keep my happy little name on it and a way for people to send feedback I'm a happy little clam.  
Notes: I love my Beta on this, Morganna, you rock girl!

Disclaimer: Joss is evil... And he doesn't share well. So I am stealing them for the time being... Don't worry. He will get them back. Possibly intact...

Frozen

Part One: Never Enough

There was never enough time, or maybe there was too much of it. Buffy Summers could never decide which was true. In her world time was both absent and yet ever present, a reminder of what she had lost and what she had gained. She had lost the need to worry about the countless hours ticking by. In fact there was no evidence that time even existed here, in her world, in her apartment. There were no clocks, no digital blinking streaming from the DVD player or microwave, even the gold watch that the Scoobies had bought her for her 23rd birthday had long since stopped ticking. It was as if time could not reach her, and dared not tread into her sanctuary.

But for all time was held at bay in her small apartment amidst the busy streets of New York, there were still memories; time could not erase those, not yet. And Buffy wouldn't have let it if it could. She knew that in time memories could fade, break down, and she fought it with all of her might. Keeping them close to her heart and turning them over in her mind like a scrapbook. She armed herself against forgetting with pictures. Photos carefully framed and mounted covered her walls, sat on her dressers, and propped on nightstands. Every photo she could find was carefully placed in a spot of honor, bitter photos, happy photos, photos that brought a tear to her eye, were all mingled seamlessly. There were dozens from the weeks after the battle with The First. Nothing like an apocalypse to make you appreciate what really mattered. A few from high school, ones which she had begged Cordelia to have copied and ones that Angel bestowed upon her as a birthday present. It didn't seem to matter to him that she no longer counted birthdays, for the numbers would never turn. Those years were frozen just like the face smiling back at her, never changing.

There was a single blank frame on which Buffy placed a rose. She did it frequently, not everyday or every week for those words had lost all meaning to her now, but when one wilted she replaced it, starting with a fresh bud. She liked to watch it grow and change, some times she was envious of the flower, for it grew so splendidly, and sometimes she noticed how short its tiny life was and was grateful she was not a rose. But she kept it watered and happy during its brief life next to that empty frame, it helped lessen the bitter resentment she felt rising in her whenever she would glance at it. It should have held a picture of her mother, of Joyce, but there was none to be found. The Hellmouth stole that from her, it stole so very much from her. But she pushed that thought down and instead tucked the newest rose bud into the vase, concentrating on its beauty and the sound of jingling keys as Spike came home.

"Hey luv." He smiled at her, shoving his key back into his duster, as he entered their creamy white bedroom. He seemed to occupy most of the space, calling into sharp contrast his bleached hair and leather duster and the smell of brandy and tobacco that clung to him with the perfectly crisp sheets and drawn linen curtains. She smiled back at him, the familiar unchanging scent always offering up its comfort, reminding her she was not alone, not yet anyway. 

And like the darkening of the sky when a cloud blots out the sun her face fell, her mind floating into the future that lay stretched out in front of them, her path straight and unchanging and his yet to be determined. Yes, she had him now but it was only a matter of time before he was gone from her world. She knew it might be decades even hundreds of years but it still stood there, an everlasting ink spill on her once hopeful future.

Noticing the small frown that crossed her face he approached her, locking both arms around her slender waist. She smiled weakly at him, as he searched her hazel eyes for the cause of her distress and misreading the sadness spoke. "We don't have to go, ya know. We can stay in and watch the telly." But she knew better and so did he. She had to go. And he would rather stake himself then let her dive into that can of worms unaided. He was going to stand by and be her knight, the more things change... She smiled to herself, wondering if he knew that he could never hide the truth from her, that it was all painted in those blue orbs, but she didn't ask. There would be time later, for time was the one thing she had.

She sighed deeply, as his thumbs swirled lazy circles across her back. "Nah." She shook off his suggestion for a night in as if it had been a viable option. "I have to go. It's a slayer thing. I need to make sure they're all peachy keen. Ya know, keep the baddies away." She tried to grin but it didn't reach her eyes. His face darkened at the sight of her fighting to keep up appearances, he was about to suggest he go alone when she cast her eyes down, fiddling with the buttons of his black silk shirt. "I just want to give her one good night." Her eyes caught his, silently pleading.

"If you say so, pet." He watched her pull out a leather jacket from her closet, still amazed after all this time how she belonged to him. She came prancing up before him, spinning in a quick turn. His eyes raked over her, a hint of predator leaking out.

"So how do I look?" She angled, even though it was clear by the glint in his eyes that he approved. 

His mouth felt suddenly dry, his tongue thick at the sight of her in her black leather pants and low cut halter revealing a hint of her supple breasts. "Perfect."

She noticed his falling eye line and took it to mean something was obviously wrong with her outfit. "Do you think I should change tops?" She asked peering down at the burgundy halter beneath the soft folds of leather, her brow furrowed slightly as she pondered her choice. She knew it was a foolish question, in the end it didn't matter, they couldn't see her. But there were moments... moments when she wanted to be seen. But the choice had been made long ago and she could do nothing to remedy it now.

Spike ignored her first question, witnessing the shadow crossing her features as she worked out the conclusion on her own, that it didn't matter. "Come on." He said grabbing her warm hand in his cool one, pulling her towards the door. "If we don't hurry we are gonna be late."

She sighed, as she caught up to his long strides, holding tightly to his arm as they walked through the darkness. There was never enough time.


	2. Part Two: Too Much

Part Two: Too Much

Spike was doubting his early decision to pass along the bit of information he had been given. When he had told her of the party it had been to reassure her that they were safe and happy, she hadn't been eating and he had hoped to cheer her up. It had seemed to work initially, she smiled more, spent less time in front of those bloody photos dwelling on the past, even wanted to go out for a bit. So he never dreamed of balking when she requested this one simple favor of him, it was her present she had said, she would stand guard, protect them from any nasties trying to lurk. He had merely insisted on coming with her, it was more for the company; he knew all too well that she was impervious to any harm. Or impervious to any physical harm, her spirit was a whole other matter. And that was what concerned him. 

She faded in and out of the shadows, never too direct, always blurred, always hidden amongst the darkness. Spike had once longed to capture her heart, for he could already read her mind, a perfect novel lay out in front of him but now it had been put under lock and key. Her thoughts, dreams, fears, hidden away from his once knowing eyes, tucked away in the shadows. He had her. That should have been enough. But he couldn't help but feeling she was like sand through his fingers, the tighter he tried to hold on to her, the faster she slipped away.

He did what he could, took her to movies she might like, brought home her favorite foods, kept her busy, and told her frequently how blessed he was to have her, how he loved her. Buffy never could see all the little ways he took care of her, how he would pick a fight just to get her feeling something, anything, for her eyes never did mature. He was given little rewards, crumbs from her table, lovemaking, small smiles, a twinkle in her eye, and perhaps even the occasional dream shared with him, of places she wanted to go, things she wanted to try. He lived for those moments and had traded her a gift of information in return. But that didn't mean it was for the best.

He tightened his grip, pulling her closer to his side, as they stood in the darkness across from a small pizza parlor with a large window, a moving portrait displaying the lives inside its warmth. She leaned her head back on his strong chest, her grip tightening on his hand. She could do this. She would do this. She could still be part of it, if only unnoticed. With a downward glance at his love, his eyes filled with worry she was blinded to, he squeezed her, swaying slightly side to side, as if she were a babe to be rocked. He didn't have a passport to her world anymore, he could no longer decipher what was behind those hazel eyes but he knew, at least for that moment, that she was wondering what it would have been like to be among them. 

They stood, and sat, giggled, and joked, her friends, her family. She was only ten feet from them but it didn't matter, there might have well been an ocean between them for all that she was a part of their world. They weren't the same as they had been, but their smiles still glowed, Xander was still joking though he now carried a bit of weight and streaks of gray framed his temples. Willow was no longer a redhead; instead opting for a soft chestnut brown, laugh lines drawn around her mouth. And Dawn. Buffy inhaled sharply when she caught the first sight of her sister, her husband carrying a girl of barely eight upside down, causing her to laugh until her tiny cheeks flushed pink, Buffy's niece, Kyna. Kyna had grown in leaps and bounds since she had seen her last, on her second birthday in central park. But Dawn, she looked the same, older to be sure, but same straight brown hair, same blue eyes, her skin kept youthful at high expense to her husband. 

Fate would laugh then if she could. Dawn would have given up everything to stay young forever, to keep her body toned, and skin smooth. She had a doctor she implored to do just that, thinking that wrinkles were horrid things, which she would never allow to mar her face. Even at 35 she already felt past her prime and wished she could halt the hands of time. And her sister had the hands of time halted, her skin would never wrinkle, her body never change, and she looked enviously on Willow's laugh lines, and Xander's graying hair. For even in Buffy's limited perception she could see they showed a life well lived. She had known in her heart of hearts very early in her calling that she would never achieve those priceless badges of life, slayers were noted by their short lives, now she would live forever, past the end of the world, and they still eluded her. Yes, fate would definitely laugh.

"Come on, luv." Spike finally spoke, as a fat tear rolled down her creamy cheek. "Let's go fight us some monsters." And with a nod, they went off in the darkness, to do their small part in making Kyna birthday a happy and safe one.

Pulling her jacket tighter around her slender form, Buffy thought of the one who wasn't there who should be. The man who had taught her to stand on her own feet, showed her the paths she wanted to travel on and those that she wished to avoid, and in the end it was his death that cast a light on her immortal state.

Cancer. It had been cancer, not something fitting for a man that fought the forces of darkness, not a hero's death. Just cancer. Red-hot anger flooded through Buffy whenever she thought of it. Giles was a hero, he had been her hero, yet in the end had became a statistic. The first diagnosis had been almost two years after the battle with The First, changed the world and devoured her home. But Giles was a fighter; it had taken five years till it finally won. In the end he was tired, skin sallow, body limp. Buffy had haunted the hospital, and it was he, who in his quiet Giles way, commented that she looked the same as she did that day they had said goodbye to Sunnydale forever. That she hadn't changed a bit.

Buffy at the time, smiled softly and held his hand telling him to rest. It was only once the funeral was over and she was back in the familiar states that she began to really look around her. Physically everyone seemed the same, Dawn was still getting taller, but there was something indistinct, an invisible line that separated her from them. They might not have been changing physically, but emotionally they were going through different seasons, and Buffy? She still saw the world the same way she did at 22 as she did at 29. And that didn't settle well.

Angel had helped her track down some powerful something or other to look into it for her. And faced with the bare facts, she walked out of their lives forever. They would never understand if she had told them, they wouldn't see, she had too much time.

To Be Continued...


	3. Part Three: Between the Hands

Part Three: Between the hands

She tossed off the leather jacket and it landed on the cream armchair with a soft plop as Spike carefully bolted the door behind them. The night had been quiet, without any beasties to defeat, leaving them both a bit ruffled. They hadn't spoken the entire walk back to their apartment, to their home. Buffy had walked ahead of him; a foot apart, furiously wiping at tears that refused to obey her repeated orders to stop falling. He had sulked behind her, furious at himself for telling her in the first place, at a loss how to heal her. He knew what is was like to outlive others, to be the one left standing while everyone else moved on, grew older, and passed away. He knew so why couldn't she confide in him?

But she never would confide in him, she would love him, hold him, war with him, but she would never just be with him. She would never lower that wall, if it even could be deflected, for she was hardened into that 22-year-old mind of pain and distrust. She would never soften her stance; time would never erode it. Time could not touch her. She wasn't sure anything could. They lived side by side but they were worlds apart. He reached for her, and wondered why she didn't reach for him, he never understood that she couldn't. She couldn't be in love with him, she could love him in her own soft ways but she could never burn of fire and passion, to be in love was to grow, and she was frozen.

She headed over to the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a bag of blood. She opened it carefully and poured the crimson contents into a mug that she popped in the microwave for a minute and a half. She busied herself with starting to unload the dishwasher waiting for the beep. This was how it worked, she took care of him, warmed him blood, kept house for him, little penances for not loving him as he loved her. She knew it was wrong, horrible the way she basked in his love without being able to return the sentiment. But she was lonely, and he was so good to her. So she tried to be good to him too, maybe not in ways he would have wanted, a cup of warmed blood didn't compare with eternal devotion but it was all she could offer him. She loved him with as much of her frozen heart as she could, and he never saw it, he never knew how she longed to burn for him, how she missed the fire. She so wanted to be in love with him.

The microwave alerted her that the blood was ready, she pulled it out, stirring it to make sure it was evenly heated throughout before pulling down a box of Wheat Thins and snatching a few. She placed the mug and the crackers side by side on a small plate. "Whatcha got there, luv?" Spike questioned as she carried the plate into the living room where he lounged on the sofa furiously clicking channels. He always asked but it rarely changed. Sometimes she would get the urge to bake something, or serve up a real dinner, or order a bloomin' onion but generally it was the same. 

She handed him the blood. "Chicken and Stars. Make you all better. You seemed a bit sluggish tonight. So I thought comfort food." She smiled sheepishly.

"Looks like the chicken's a bit bloody." He quipped as he brought the mug to his lips.

"I thought there was something off about it." She snapped her fingers, as if just solving a mystery. "I didn't know if it was that or the lack of stars.and, ya know, chicken."

"Does seem to be lacking, luv." He took a long sip, a hungry groan escaping his lips. 

"You like?" Her eyes twinkled mischievously.

He didn't answer; he was too busy wolfing down the crimson content, his face a picture of ecstasy. When the mug lay empty, the last drops of life devoured, and his mouth wiped with the back of his hand, he stared at her in a content bewilderment. "How?" He spoke when he was able to form words again, pulling her onto his lap.

"Well." She smiled playfully as her fingers danced up and down his neck. "I heard of a little place who could do this sort of stuff, figured since I don't need it, it might just perk you up."

"Oh I'm _up_ alright." He whispered huskily into her hot ear. "But why not just offer it from the source?" His cool hand smoothed over her jugular. Her eyes immediately fell to the floor, her body tensing up. He knew why, the bite, the claim, it was too intimate, only to be shared when you were in the throngs of love, and she wasn't. "Hey, hey." He said, catching a finger beneath her chin and raising it, forcing her to look at him. "It's okay." He brushed a strand of golden hair from her face. "It was a lovely gift, really."

She nodded meekly, guilt flooding her. A gift? Was it? She wondered if she had just cursed him, if by the gift of her hot blood he would freeze, or if it was nothing more than Slayer blood, a present to be given so freely? It had been crazy, a gamble, one she wasn't even sure she wanted to win. If he became like her, what then? Would he be hollow like her? Would he turn to ice, the passion extinguished in his eyes? She wanted him forever; she wanted something to hold onto while the sands of time slipped through her fingers. Sometimes she wondered how she even had blood running in her veins, how she could still, taste, and eat, and touch. She felt like a rock, she didn't live, she just was. Blood from a stone that's what she gave him.

His blue eyes darkened with worry at her somber expression, her body here but her mind floating beyond his reach. He wanted to hold her down, to keep her here with him, if someone had offered him true immortality he would have taken it in a heartbeat, just to be with her, to maybe understand her, to travel the paths that she so often walked alone. He never would know how she had hoped to make that choice for him, a secret part of him hoped he would be cursed, the blood would transfer something, anything to him and he would be like her, he would be part of her forever. And yet she was relieved when the fire still shown in his azure orbs. She didn't want to douse that torch; she never wanted to harm that flame. She missed the fire, she didn't want him to hurt like that.

Her lips crashed down upon his, her tongue seeking permission, exploring the moist cavern. Hands pulled at zippers and plucked at buttons. Flesh exposed, fire on ice, attempting to warm his body, thaw her heart. His mouth latched on to her breast, a starving man, feasting on her sweet skin. She closed her eyes, letting herself go. The choice had been made long ago. There was no going back now.

*****

Angel had done some checking. A few tests, she could be harmed, hurt, but no matter how severe her injuries, how grave, she miraculously pulled through. He had visited them first, his own ears disbelieving. He couldn't tell her, but he gave her passage to them. She had stood, timid, before them. Babbling before they halted her, they knew her purpose of coming. The word "forever immortal" had hung in the air, dancing before her eyes her mind not ready to receive it. She would never change, never age, never grow in mind or body. Denial comes easy to those of 22, and with a body that should have aged to 29 she ran from their presence.

She ran to Angel. Crying tears of youth, she didn't want this, ask for this. She could already feel the rift between herself and the others, how much larger would it grow in a year? Ten years? Fifty? And then they would be gone, and she would be alone. Forever 22 because of two stupid spells freezing her, the one to resurrect her, melding with the one to unleash the slayer power, until she was bound in her icy prison. He had agreed to come with her, beg them to release her, to do something. He stood beside her when they told her they could do but one thing, take her from this plane. 

Angel had left her, giving her until midnight to make her choice, if she didn't come he would know her choice was death, over an icy life. As he kissed her goodbye, he knew he would never lay eyes on her again, and he was right. He trusted her to know what it had taken him centuries to discover; life without being able to grow wasn't life at all. Had she been a year or two older she might have given herself over to eternal slumber, but she wasn't, and never would be. She knew that the Scoobies could never understand; Angel could never grasp her decision. She refused to sit day after day and watch as they moved further out of her reach. She would be forever immortal alone.

How Spike ever found out she never knew. He seemed to know the whole story, thought Angel was a right ponce for the way he was acting like there was no choice to be made. He thought Spike a fool when he protested that Buffy wouldn't go through with it. Never did believe him. Told her friends brave tales of her valiant decision. They mourned and moved on. Spike stood beside her as they all instantly faded from her life. Only Spike saw.

*****

She cried out in ecstasy as he pumped into her, a growl of pleasure ripping through him and he spilled his seed deep inside her. She curled up within his arms, his hands forever holding her. He had known what the others had missed, that she had been afraid. They saw her as a brave slayer, they refused to strip the mask away and look upon the girl who wanted to be protected and loved. And he planned to do just that. He never could understand how Angel hadn't seen it. The girl wanted to live, it was the only thing that made sense. Spike never knew that had she it to do over again things might be different. It was a sobering thought, but maybe she wasn't as frozen as she thought, maybe she was just caught between the hands of time.

The End


End file.
